


It's All Fine

by verucasalt123



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discipline, Established Relationship, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes care of Sherlock’s inappropriate comments at the Christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selana1505](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=selana1505).



They’d only had to go through this twice before, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant for either man. 

Sure, they’d gotten up to some spanking and smacking around in bed, but the occasions when John had to actually punish Sherlock for something were not fun sexytimes, not by a longshot.

This was a necessity, though, and Sherlock had long ago agreed to submit when John determined that punishment was in order. It was just part of the dynamic of their relationship. There was, of course, a discussion, but no argument on Sherlock’s part as they spoke. He was already bent over the back of the armchair, nude from the waist down. He’d had plenty of time to think about the situation as he’d had his nose in the corner of their sitting room for the past half an hour.

“Sherlock, you understand why I have to spank you tonight, yeah? You know I’m not getting my jollies from this.”

“Yes, John, I do, and I apologize, again.”

“And what is it, exactly, that you are apologizing for?”

“I was…unkind…to Lestrade.”

“Unkind?” John responded, incredulously. “You informed him in front of a room full of other people that his wife was sleeping with someone else. He’s our _friend_ , and you humiliated him in public. I thought you’d learned better manners than that lately. At least I hoped you had.”

Sherlock honestly did feel regret at what he’d said, and not only because he was about to have a thrashing from this lover as a result. The minute the words came out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should never have said that.”

“You don’t owe me an apology. You owe an apology to Greg, and honestly, to everyone else there who had to endure the consequences of what you said. I am going to punish you now, but your punishment doesn’t negate that. Tomorrow, you will speak to Greg, and to Molly and Mrs Hudson and whoever else you need to, and you will tell them that it was in incredibly poor taste for you to say such a thing, and ask for them to forgive you for being so crass. Understand?”

“Yes, of course, I’ll do it, whatever you say. I know I deserve to be punished, John, but please…”

Please? Sherlock didn’t say ‘please’, not even when he was bent over for a spanking.

“Please what?”

Swallowing his pride, Sherlock responded, “Not the cane, John.” His voice was shaking. “Anything but that, just – not the cane.” Only one brief encounter with that particular implement in the past was enough for him to fear it even when he knew he might deserve it. 

Giving in to a moment of sympathy, John relented. “All right. You don’t want the cane, you’ll have my belt, and you’ll damn well appreciate my leniency this time.”

“Thank you, yes, I will, I do, I appreciate it, honestly…”

“What is it that you appreciate? Say it. And mean it.”

Sherlock took in a shaky breath and responded, “I appreciate that you’re going to whip me with your belt and not cane me. Thank you.”

With that, John set the cane to the side and went about removing his belt. Sherlock heard every sound, the buckle coming undone, the slide of the belt through John’s trouser loops, he even thought he might have heard the implement being folded in two so that it could be used for John’s intended purpose. 

“All right, you would have only got six with the cane but you’ll have twelve with the belt. And there will be no negotiations regarding that. Hold on and keep your position. You know how this goes. If you move, I start over. You’ll count, and if you miss one, I start over. If I’ve got to restrain you, tell me now before we get started.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’ll be still, I swear.” Sherlock secretly wished to be restrained, but wanted badly to keep his promise and be strong enough to take his punishment without any undignified squirming or moving about. Being bent bare-assed over the back of a chair and belted was enough indignity for one evening. 

There was no more warning or discussion before the belt struck him right across the middle of his ass. Sherlock stayed silent except for a whisper of the word “one”, before the next blow caught him in the exact same spot.

“Two”, he breathed, gritting his teeth.

The blows continued, and Sherlock counted without more than choked-back grunts until John’s belt connected with the spot where the back of his thighs met his buttocks. At that point, he couldn’t help but cry out as he blurted, “Eight!”

Two more strikes caught him at the very sensitive spot at the bottom of his, well, of his bottom. He still managed to count them out, but by this point, tears had gathered in his eyes and he had no way to hold them back.

“It’s all right, darling, two more and we’re finished, just hold on and don’t make me have to start over again.”

The belt landed in the middle of his thighs this time, and a sob escaped his throat as he forced himself to cry out “Eleven” through his tears. The last blow almost broke him, striking in the exact same spot. He sagged against the back of the chair and almost let go before he realized that was the end of it. Through his tears, he managed to weakly call out the count of twelve. 

Immediately, John was at his side, lifting him up, holding him close. “You did so well, love, I’m proud of you. I know it wasn’t easy.”

Sherlock found himself in the distinctly uncomfortable position of crying on John’s shoulder, babbling apologies and promises of better behavior in the future. 

“I know, darling. I know. Tomorrow you’ll see everyone you need to see to make this right, and it’ll all be over.”

That word, ‘see’, caught Sherlock’s attention and he raised his head just slightly. Still sniffling, he asked, “Couldn’t I just send them a text, or-”

“Stop it this instant, you know better. If you can make other people embarrassed and uncomfortable face to face, you can subject yourself to the same thing. You haven’t got to tell them you’ve been spanked. Just that you regret having been insensitive tonight. You can do that.” Everyone knew they were together, but no one needed to know about this. Unless Mrs Hudson had heard…neither of them wanted to consider that possibility.

Looking up finally into the eyes of his lover, Sherlock gained the confidence that he needed. John had already forgiven him for what he’d done, so any reaction he got from speaking to their friends was inconsequential. 

“Take me to bed?”

“Of course, Sherlock. Go on and wash your face, calm down a little and come get in bed with me. It’s fine, sweetheart, it’s all fine.”


	2. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to explain why Sherlock was afraid of the cane. So here's another story to go with the last one.

Their day had been long and frustrating. As expected, Sherlock had reacted by acting like a colossal dick to anyone who got near him. Including John. He’d recognized his mistake immediately, and attempted to make up for it, but clearly he’d not been successful. 

By the time they got back to Baker Street, John was fuming. They’d been together for a while, and the dynamics of their relationship were quite clear. Out on a case, Sherlock took the lead, John following or at his side. But at home, it was a completely different story. John was in charge at home, no questions asked. And if he found Sherlock’s behavior lacking, there would be _punishment_. At the time, no explanation of that statement was given, but it wasn’t really needed. Sherlock knew exactly what John meant, and he’d agreed without hesitation. Over time, even without any kind of discipline, he was learning to be a better man as a result of what he and John had together.

Some days, though…some days Sherlock couldn’t hold back with his nasty comments, snide remarks, barely-veiled insults. Even to people who were his friends. Even, apparently, to John, which was a grave error on his part.

“I’m terribly disappointed in you, Sherlock. You were ugly and hurtful to several people today, including myself. I know you were frustrated but that’s not an excuse, not anymore. You know better, I’ve seen it myself, and I can’t say I’m sure why you decided to behave this way today, but I’m going to try to make you understand how unacceptable that is. Do you understand?”

Sherlock had gone in a moment from a defiant stance to a submissive one at the sound of John’s growling reprimand. “I do, John. I expect you’ll punish me?” He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but he wasn’t going to argue, since he’d already agreed to this when it was still just something theoretical. 

“I am. Remove your trousers and pants, then bend over the back of the armchair. _Now_.”

Knowing better than to argue or hesitate, Sherlock did as he was told. A feeling of nervous anticipation was creeping through his gut; he didn’t like not knowing exactly what it was he had coming. Corporal punishment, surely, and something designed to humiliate him. He didn’t think for a moment John wasn’t capable of it.

He watched John as he moved out of the room, then returned holding a thin rattan cane. His first thought was, _where the bloody hell did he get that thing_ , but he remained silent. 

Sherlock had been caned before, in public school. He remembered that it hurt, quite a bit, and that it knocked him down a peg or two. He’d thought that part of it was because Mycroft had found out and teased him about it mercilessly, but maybe not. That incident had been different, though. Yes, it was painful, but it was over his trousers and he was only ten years old, small for his age and never having been punished before for anything in his life. Spoiled, the headmaster had said. Sherlock had thought he’d deleted that comment, but apparently not. It was true, though, he was spoiled. His brother was much older and had no time to pay attention to his antics, and their mother never seemed to get angry with him, bearing his unusual behavior with smiles and half-hearted apologies to her friends. 

So yeah, John was going to use the cane on him. It would probably hurt more, considering his bare backside, but nothing he couldn’t handle. That was why he was so surprised at John’s words.

“I’m sorry to punish you so harshly, I know it’s the first time I’ve had to do it, but I want to make an impression. Do not move, or there _will_ be consequences.”

That sickly feeling in his belly intensified, but hardly had time to take hold before the cane struck him across the middle of his bottom. It stung terribly for a second, but that sting almost immediately blossomed outward, shocking him to his core. Without warning, it landed again, crossing part of the line it had made previously. 

Without even a moment to consider why, Sherlock immediately jumped, stood almost straight up, and let go of the chair. He turned his head briefly, met only with John’s cold glare and an order to get back into position.

“I told you there would be consequences if you moved, Sherlock. If you’re not still, I could hit you in the wrong place (was there a right place for this?, Sherlock asked himself). I don’t want this cane to land on your back, I’m not trying to injure you. I’m going to give you six, so now you can count. Start with ‘one’ and don’t miss any.”

“John, I’m sorry, I’m so – I don’t know – I’m not sure if I can-”

“All right, darling. First of all, you’ve got your safeword and you know you can use it.”

“No, it’s not that, I don’t want to, I just-” 

“I’ve got an alternative. I can secure your hands to the chair. But you’ll have three more strokes in exchange. Tell me what you want.”

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds for Sherlock to know exactly what he’d say. “Yes, if you would…I don’t want to do that again.”

Seemingly prepared for the possibility, John retrieved two plastic zip-ties and quickly used them to fasten Sherlock’s wrists tightly to the arms of the chair. Now, there was no way for Sherlock to stand up like that again unless he brought the chair along with him. 

“We’re going to begin again. Don’t forget to count.”

The cane came down again across his buttocks, and Sherlock bit back a groan but managed to say ‘one’ as he was thinking ‘three’. 

By the fourth (sixth) bite of the cane, Sherlock could no longer hold back the scream that had been lodged in his throat. He still called out the number, though, not wanting to tempt John’s wrath further. After the sixth stroke, John reassured him, “You're fine, that’s all, you’re doing wonderfully, it’s all right to scream, we're almost done."

And thank goodness it was, because those last three came down in quick succession at the swell of his buttocks, one right on top of the other. He was barely able to sob out ‘seven, eight, nine’ (didn’t even consider voicing the ‘nine, ten, eleven’ that was floating around his brain). 

Before he knew what was happening, John had cut him loose and was holding him, wiping away his tears. “Please don’t make me do this again, _please_ ”, John whispered, the words ripping Sherlock’s heart to shreds. 

“You’ve got a couple of little spots that are bleeding. Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

Sherlock had no resistance, no strength, no will for anything at that point. The pain was excruciating, and he was exhausted. John led him into their bed, removing his shirt and laying him on his belly. With all the gentle care that had been absent for the past little while, John rubbed ointment onto his stinging backside, murmuring soft endearments into his ear. 

“I love you, John, I’m sorry for making you punish me.” Sleep overtaking him with an intensity he never expected, he repeated, “Sorry. I’ll be good, John.”

The last thing he remembered before drifting off was John’s lips on his jaw, and a whispered, “Me too.” Sherlock had no inclination to find out if John meant he was sorry too, or if he loved him too, but it didn’t matter then. The most likely explanation was that he meant both.


End file.
